Monday, December 19, 2011

The 'Counting'

Once a year from various points on the compass, members of the clan return to the fold to eat, drink and reunite at what has come to be known as the 'Counting'. At approximately 2pm, the week end before Christmas, they begin to arrive. You know which tune to use! Nine angsty siblings, assorted bewildered spouses, six moochy teens, ten in- betweenies, five tearaway toddlers, one sleeping grandad and a nanna spinning on the kitchen bench!

There is usually a group photo either on stairs, around the table or at the Assembly of the present tree. It becomes logistically less possible each year and one person is always missing from the photos to take it.By early evening Aunty Annie is withdrawing into the cone of quiet, putting off obligatory SKYPE interaction with those not counted at today's Counting.Grandad is napping with a fixed smile although he is not sure what was actually said.The babies are not where they were left. (First the sheep, now this!) Where is Harry?Somebody's put baby in the corner!

Uncle Peter is dozing serenely on the verandah having sung too much Singstar.Nanna is dancing on the table in the kitchen between the quinoa salad and the gluten free Christmas cake possibly hallucinating about whales breeching on the cooktop. "Out of my kitchen, now, all of you." And she danced...We all anticipate it nervously, then thoroughly delight in it, then enjoy some post-Counting analysis. As always a good time was had by all. I do love that gorgeous crazy crew!

"The Counting" has a ring of Alfred Hitchcock or those surrealist films with exorcism when green smoke bursts forth from gnashing lips.But, I KNOW yours bears no resemblance to that.It seems to me that soon the clan will have to assemble on the steps of the Opera House in Sydney to fit you all in.Grandad could sleep at the top like a somnolent Christmas fairy and Nanna jitterbug in the foreground.After all , these are the bookends of your expanding, living family tree - the original artists behind the domestica.But where does it stop?Is there no clamour from the multitudinous in-laws for a guernsey?Dance on , dear Nanna, and sleep on, dear Grandad. You both deserve every accolade going.